


jason "bug cum" voorhees

by ravenousgrue, saturno



Category: Friday the 13th Series (Movies)
Genre: Bugs & Insects, F/M, Formicophilia, Graphic Description of Corpses, Gross, Incest Kink, Incest Play, Lowercase, Mommy Dom, Mommy Kink, Necrophilia, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 05:58:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5236946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenousgrue/pseuds/ravenousgrue, https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturno/pseuds/saturno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>do you want to touch mommy? do you want to make mommy feel good?</p>
            </blockquote>





	jason "bug cum" voorhees

**Author's Note:**

> collab from 4/18/15 that i'm only getting around to sharing now. we need more jason porn. (full disclosure too, ravenousgrue wrote the bulk/juicy parts of this lol)
> 
> preface is you've wandered into a shitshack in the middle of the new jersey woods with a close friend. along the way you've put on a necklace you've found in there, the next second your friend is murdered right in front of you. you wind up trying to offer your services in exchange for your life.
> 
> don't think about the details and the "why"s too hard here, we just wanted to skip ahead and write jason porn lol

is this right?  
is this thing even capable of making decisions. is this something you want to live with later? is this going to get you killed anyway? is your last act on planet earth going to be something vile and unnecessary? will they find your body and wonder why you would do such a thing. is this how you're to be remembered.

(why is he making that noise. please don't make that noise.)

what sort of noise is that. what does it even mean. this is a noise you've never heard before and never care to hear again but you keep doing it. is it a sad noise. no idea. at what point did you get used to the smell.

(you saw a machete on the wall and it's filthy. do you have enough time to run for the front door before he gets up and gets the machete. are you going to have a few moments where you can get out. if he lets go of you, should you run. is he fast? the car is right out front, it's right out front, are the keys in the car. you can't remember if you have the keys in your purse or in your dead friend's purse, oh god, who had the keys, did she have the keys, why can't you remember who took the keys.)

this thing you're touching is so soft and horrible  
("where are the keys" on a relentless loop but this loop blocks out the process of actually remembering where the keys are)  
it's like touching a slime mold, soft, moist.  
is it even enjoying this. what if you hurt it on accident, it could probably snap your spine with its bare hands. you thought what you're touching was a dick but that can't be what this is, it felt like one, but you're touching this thing you thought was a penis and it's caving like clay. is clay the word? you felt something come off of it. something detached. panic hits you very hard, do you stop and gauge its reaction or do you just keep going? it happened, a chunk came off, but it's still making that noise, like it didn't feel a piece of its body come off, a small small chunk of something but- something-

(mold? smells like being surrounded by peat moss and garbage. sharp rotten eggs. a neglected fishtank. ammonia and swamp. why does a thing like this exist. how is it alive.)

there are pieces of brain sticking to its fingers, and when it grips and grasps the flimsy sheet material underneath your two bodies, it grinds the chunks into paste into the fabric. you wonder if your friend is present then somehow. small chunks of thought about this situation from her.  
(every tiny detail is incredibly sharp. you have never been this alert in your life.)  
your friend is almost standing at the foot of the pullout couch you're on, sitting and watching. she was next to you not even 20 minutes ago, and it's impossible to grasp that that's never going to be the case anymore. it's too soon, and you wonder if neurons are still firing into space and into nothing in the little piece of brain matter sticking to his mask. microscopic life thoughts. she died so quickly and so violently that there's no way to even accept it really, it feels like an isolated event outside of time and why does this thing even have a dick. can it even get off. are you going to yank its dick off on accident, would it even care, why is it _making that fucking noise,_ on one hand while it's making that noise you appear to be safe, on the other it's a horrible sound to have right in your ear while you're giving a rotten dick a handjob. where is this going exactly. will it let you go if it cums? can you run or will it kill you the second it finishes. there really isn't a silver lining here. this thing showed up and didn't say a word and it stomped on your friends head. this is all you know about it

this is a 1% chance of life while lost in the middle of the sea, crashlanded and here you are in open ocean and it's a 1% chance that something will sail by or fly overhead. when it makes that noise you can feel something loose rattling in its throat and chest. is it going to crush you when it gets there. there's a cracking noise as the fabric around you is being ripped up just from the gripping it's doing while it's straining on itself like this. will it curl in and crush you by mistake.  
the surface of its body is spongy and weird, but its Very Solid underneath. is that bone or muscle, either way it's very real and it doesn't seem to be fully aware of your own comparably flimsy mass. look how poorly it cares for other objects, like this mattress, or that machete. could you get up and take it, do you think? could you kill it?  
but that chunk that came off, it didn't even feel it, and when you listen there's only that rattling, no heartbeat. (no heartbeat, no heartbeat!!!) just a mucusy fluttering of tissues inside, displaced by frantic breathing. an awful image of bugs making some kind of nest inside its chest cavity forces its way into your head. (is it gonna cum bugs, is your hand gonna be covered in fat maggots, what is going to come out, is it just a huge sack of fucking worms)

it has no heartbeat, your friend has no heartbeat, these are horrifying similarities and they are unwelcome. you imagine your friend soft like this and full of bugs and then it clicks with you that that's what your friend will be in about a couple days time. it clicks then, and you make an awful moaning noise. (you can't help it.) your friend and this thing are the same meat, but for some reason this awful thing is still moving and your friend isn't. you making a noise jolts the thing, and you don't know it but it wasn't really thinking about You. (it was thinking about Mother and these are two very different concepts.) you are trying very hard to get it back together but you're making awful _snorfles_ and choking on your own mucus and tears and you are furious and ashamed that even though somehow you can't keep your shit together, you are still somehow jerking this thing off. maybe it will snap your neck now. maybe it will be quick, and then the thing starts trying to touch your hair. one hand grazing against your back and one hand touching gingerly at your scalp, like it's trying to pull you in without touching you. the restraint through all the violent shaking it's doing is incredible.  
(if it touches mothers hair too hard it comes right out, but your hair stays where it is and it's very soft)  
is this it trying to comfort you, or does it want to be closer.  
(you conditioned this morning because you thought maybe you were gonna get laid in the woods, but this is _not what you were thinking at all_ )  
you feel like anyone else would be chafed by now, and you can't tell if it's that your hand is sweaty or if it's started to bleed from the friction or what the fuck is going on down there, all you can see is this thing's chest and shoulders and hints of a terrifying rotten face, thank god it's keeping its mask on. there's some snaggle of teeth sticking out from the side of its face like crooked outward-facing molars. is that a deformity or are its teeth slowly falling out or maybe a bit of both, does it matter, it doesn't have a heartbeat. does this thing have a plan or is it thrown for a loop so long as you keep jerkin its nasty boner?? how does it even have one if it doesn't have blood flow?? these are better things to think about than how it's touching your hair and your back. is it curious or is it trying to find just the right spot to grab and crush.

you oscillate wildly between _i'm going to die here_ and _i refuse to die._ your reptile brain rejects the notion that you might cease to exist, but your higher brain thinks it might soften the blow if you accept this somehow. didn't you hear somewhere that if you go limp you sustain less injury. does that even apply to brutal murder. it's for bears you pretend you're dead, but was that even true, should you pretend your dead with any wild animal. your friend didn't even have a chance to think about anything all, and now you wonder if maybe she was the lucky one here. her problems are over with. she doesn't have to deal with this now. just because you're still alive doesn't mean you are in a better position. in fact you cannot imagine a worse position than the one you are in currently. she's brains being ground into a foul pull-out couch mattress, just little pieces of her. which pieces? is that the piece that laughed with you drinking bud lite limeritas a few months ago while you talked about exes on her roof.  
it's touching you a lot more boldly now because your skin doesn't slough off and crumble, in fact you feel very nice although its fingers feel like being stroked with clammy lukewarm sausage links. not all of its fingers have fingernails anymore. a weird twohand stroke up and down the length of your back and the back of your head, through your hair. the shaking is unending; maybe he'll shake himself to pieces like the little piece that broke off somewhere in his pants.  
(there was that one time he found that girl in the cave where he dumps the bodies, but this is very different and he wasn't prepared for this, he's not really a creature that values impulse control but this is Very Special because its Mother)  
you have no idea that the only reason you're alive is a shitty old pendant. you have no idea that if you just didn't put it on you would already be dead. all you know is that this thing is very awkwardly touching you and making weird noises and your arm is getting very tired.  
do you try and hurry this up. how do you hurry this up. maybe you're only alive until that end point when it finishes, but everything right now is a spinning hypoxic mess and most of all you don't want to be afraid of the _what if_ anymore, the _what if_ and the waiting and This is so much worse than whatever the end will be. you want it done, you want it done, it doesn't matter how it ends anymore, you will be dead and it won't be a thing you have to deal with anymore. you will be dead and it will be over, or you will live and it will be over. you turn your head and kiss its neck and there is no way it didn't feel the disgusted _jolt_ that shoots through you. it's a wave of revulsion that makes you give its dick a hard squeeze that you can't control. touching its neck with your mouth is somehow more vile than what you're doing with your hand, and you practically choke on a sob, but you've done it now and that's a thing you've done in your life, will it please just get it over with.

it does grab you - it grabs your head and grinds your face against its chest, and even though its palms are crushing your ears flat to your head, you can feel the noises it's making and the rattling sounds independent of the noises. you're waiting for pain, but all it does is crush against you and jerk its hips into your hand. it happens really fast, because one second you're being slowly asphyxiated (but hey, you'll take it) and the next, your head is smashed against the mattress and the thing puts you on your back and does an awkward lumbering shuffle over top of you, and you can barely feel your arm anymore but you try to keep it going because this muscle memory has been powerfully etched into your brain. its entire body is shaking and now you can make eye contact with it, and the worst thing about the one eye staring back at you is that it's filled with something that makes your guts tie up into one solid dense mass. for the moment though, it doesn't know what else to do with its hands. it just hunches over you and you're sunk into the mattress now because it's so heavy. it holds your head and little ropes of drool glop through the breathing holds in the mask. it hasn't said a word, and if this thing _speaks_ to you now you are pretty sure you will immediately lose your fucking mind. you hope it speaks, and you also hope it doesn't. neither option is preferable. it feels like its going to say something, but maybe that tension in the air is just the thing thinking about killing you.  
it stops grabbing your head and drags its hand over your face and down around your neck, and it rubs your trachea with its thumb; its such a soft touch it's almost intimate, but for this thing its more of an afterthought, because the hand moves lower and shakily strokes the pendant. it's between your breasts and it's pawing at it like a cat so its not just the pendant its feeling.

did everybody get a good look at that photo on the wall before. the old bitch in the sweater with the necklace.  
you think everyone got a look, but it doesn't sink in until this thing is mewling and stroking a pendant that you understand. maybe in the back of your mind you'd immediately dismissed it. back then, when it first cropped up as a thought. back then it wasn't important. just a junk file, a detail to discard. you understand now though. you understand much more clearly that you would like. what is wrong with you that you understand it so quickly, what kind of person continues to capitulate instead of trying to escape and being killed then. you're going to die either way, but this is what you're choosing to do, and you're the sort of person who realizes that this thing thinks you're its mother.

(that head in the bathroom. the photo. the head. the photo. the necklace. this thing.)

it's like molten metal being plunged into water straight from the forge. instantly solid. and now that you have this information, what are you supposed to do with it. how does it help. it has a head in a shrine, so it must know its mother's dead, but it also wants to fuck its mother, what the fuck are you supposed to do with this information. what would anyone else do with it. what would your friend do with it. what would a person like you do with it, since you seem to be the kind of person who jerks off monsters and kisses them even when pieces come off.  
(you hysterically think for a second back to on your friend's roof, talking about exes, and now there's a new story you're telling her about the time you fucked with a decomposing body that whimpered and cried for _mommy mommy_ the whole time, and the two of you laugh about this. 5am on a roof, drunk on a morning in august.)  
the only noises that have been uttered this whole time are moans and grunts and sobs and what if you speak and it speaks back to you. you will lose your mind if it forms a word, it would be too much somehow. _that_ would be too much. you catch the thing's hand, and its entire body goes rigid, and you wonder if its eyeball might actually pop out. and even though it's horribly still now, it lets you move its hand from the pendant to one of your breasts. your nipples are hard from all the friction, and you wonder if that's even a detail it cares about. its wants to fuck its mommy and you're mommy and now you have to wonder how much power your words might have.

maybe you can tell him to go sit in the corner. maybe you can make him leave. maybe you can make him let you go, or maybe he already has a set idea of what's going to happen. you think maybe if you don't say anything the tension is going to snap and its going to kill you instantly, and all you have to do is nothing.  
instead you put its hand on your tit and say _good boy_  
good boy good boy you're mommy's good boy  
it's shaking again, it's shaking even harder than before and you don't think it's blinked once. the noise it makes almost sounds like a word. (you couldn't say what word, but its so close to one that your heart skips a beat) it's beside itself and you're pretty sure you felt its dick twitch in your hand, which you can barely feel anymore, its just a thing you've always done and always will do. you'd do almost anything to stop doing it, and what a funny thought that is in this funny situation where a monster thinks you're its mommy.  
_are you a good boy?_ and it actually jerks out a nod, its chest heaving even though you're not even sure it breathes, _such a good boy such a good strong son._ it's whimpering now, it sounds like a cow in distress, it's so desperate that maybe it really will shake itself apart right in front of you. whats even holding it together. how have all the worms not spilled out. there's a head in a shrine and it probably has your friends brains on it but here you are, jerking off a monster. you can't do that anymore though, the numbness has turned into a deep pain and even your elbow feels tight. and maybe this is it. maybe this will end it, because if you stop jerking it off the spell might be broken and you'll be dead immediately. maybe you won't have to do these things that you'll never be able to get past if you live.  
you stop and your entire arm seizes up immediately and it's very painful, honestly it's the most painful thing that's happened and its your own fault is the funniest part. it grabs your wrist and squeezes it, and you wonder what it will feel like to have your arm ripped off, but instead of that it clumsily mashes your own hand between your legs and you notice it won't make eye contact anymore. is it shy. is this fucking thing bashful about mommy's pussy.  
_what a cheeky boy,_ you hear yourself say, _mommy's big brave man,_ and your fingers fumble with your jeans because they're still numb and sore and swollen, are you really doing this? are you really doing this? _do you want to touch mommy? do you want to make mommy feel good?_

 _ **muuuhooommmyyyy**_ it gurgles and you feel like a table shifts in your mind and everything rolls off and you unbutton your fly and rip down with your thumb _you're such a big boy mommy's so proud_

you start to touch yourself. some part of you is still pretending that you aren't going to go through with this and that stalling just a few more seconds will mean an epiphany but it (he) paws at you and makes impatient, gurgling whines and it ( HE ) has curled a fist into your hair. he whines and moans and you laugh at him, _so eager to help mommy feel good, what a good boy, what a good son,_ and for a brief moment you are certain he looks sheepish and unsure but in the next he's already pressing his huge body down onto yours. _good boy good boy show mommy how much you love her,_ and you don't even think anymore about what having something like that inside of you will do or how you'll explain an infection, because you aren't going to live, are you? so it doesn't matter. the fumbling is terrible because it disrupts the metal state you're trying to stay in. you're trying to keep your blinders on and to float very far and away, but he can't seem to get things lined up and you have to help him, and the moment he feels things _catch_ he's as far inside as he can fit in one awful motion, and even if you weren't wet you would've yelped all the same, he has your wrists pinned up over your head so he can press his mask against your face, so his eyeball is so close to yours and you feel your eyelashes bend slightly back when they brush the filthy plastic. making mommy yelp and cry doesn't seem to bother him because maybe that's the only thing he's ever managed to dully associate with this particular act, and you don't dare break eye contact with that one horrible eye. is that a cataract or does he have sclera like a wild animal, it's probably something you'll never figure out.

when it hurts you want it to stop but when it stops hurting you want it to start back up again. if he tore you then you'll definitely have an infection, but even if he didn't who knows what's getting inside of you now. he's going to fill you up with worms and your legs are hooked on his hips and they're a lot bonier than you were expecting and you're very glad his clothes are still on. his breathing is ragged and it builds up underneath his mask and makes it hot and sprays you with spittle and you're also glad the mask is still on, _mommy's big strong boy so strong so big mommy's so proud of you._ is this even sex? it feels like a wild animal is rutting with you. there isn't anything about it that feels sensual, in fact it feels like maybe you're going to get torn apart at some point because you're being pounded into a filthy mattress in the middle of the woods and no one can save you, no one will even notice you're gone for a week, a week is a long time to be dead and an even longer time to still be alive.  
maybe he can't get off now because you yanked his dick raw, but the idea of it going on for much longer is too much, so you arch into his big heavy body, _are you going to fill mommy up, are you going to show mommy what a Man you are, you'll always be mommy's special boy no matter what,_ every huff that pushes out of his chest sprays more spit and the ropes of saliva are back. they mix with your own saliva and mucus and you can't even tell anymore what you reflexively swallow, it doesn't matter. the only way you know he's cumming is how he seems to find a whole extra inch to slam into you and howl like an animal with its leg in a trap; you think maybe it might crack your pelvis or break your wrists, and you picture your uterus being filled with crawling insides, stretching it and wriggling and skittering, heaving and seething around each other in such a small space and trying to get out, and when you cum you imagine the force of it is expelling them, forcing them out of your body before they can start to eat right through you.

he's very heavy on top of you, his full weight is suffocating and you can't even take in enough air to sob. you barely even notice that your wrists are free. your hands just lay there like unlucky starfish after the tide goes out.  
you don't know if the crawling feeling between your legs is real or phantom, but either way it fills you with a loathing you can't quite get your head all the way around, because its unclear if its aimed at him or yourself or something else entirely.  
finally he heaves off of you and touches your face, and you wonder if you scream or cry now if he will finally kill you, please, you can't still be alive, maybe this is a nightmare maybe it isn't real somehow maybe maybe maybe good boy _oh what a good boy you made mommy feel good from her nose to her tippy toes!_

he gurgles and it occurs to you that he is laughing, and you join him. and if you listen hard enough, you think you can hear mommy laughing in the next room too.


End file.
